


Strings: Dream SMP (Corrupted Wilbur Soot)

by TheyCallMeGrimm



Category: Dream (Minecraft), DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game), Technoblade - Fandom, dreamteam - Fandom, wilbursoot - Fandom
Genre: DreamSMP - Freeform, Other, wilbursoot - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27762163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheyCallMeGrimm/pseuds/TheyCallMeGrimm
Summary: Wilbur started awake, strapped into a bed of crisp white linen. His tongue was thick with a bitter, cloying aftertaste. The room's blinding light flickers, blocked by a shadow - a tusked shadow. 'Well, that was really quite a show,' growled Techno.Something bad had happened. Something awful to a lot of people. Where was he? Where was everyone?
Comments: 5
Kudos: 96





	1. A Bitter Taste

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Madness, mental illness, violence. Suspense story based on Wilbur and Techno's recent actions on the DreamSMP server. Set in an asylum.

_Someone has been screaming for hours. Perhaps days? An eternity of agony without any bitter relief, any single tremor or shuddering breath. Different voices, now, it seems, harmonising in a shared terror. If only it would stop, just for a second._

***

Wilbur's mind snapped into blistering reality as his body heaved itself awake. He murmured for a second or two, his eyes adjusting to the bleached surroundings of the room. There was so much white. Sparkling walls, shining floor and an elegantly concealed strip light, filling the space with a head-splitting brightness. He reached to cover his eyes but stopped short - two thick white straps, complete with plastic buckles and loops, bound his blanketed arms and legs into the bed. 

He winced into the light, rolling his numb, swollen tongue around his cracked mouth. The sour aftertaste- of some drug or tranquilliser, perhaps - was overpowering; he could feel himself begin to gag. Where was he? Why did his arms feel like lead? 

A grim chuckle cut through his thoughts. Wilbur snapped his head up, eyes half closed against the light. 

'That was quite a show you put on for us, last night.'

Someone was standing over his bed. It was a humanoid, certainly, tall with dull greying skin. Matted and greasy pink strands of hair were pulled into a weary braid, hanging limply over one shoulder. The creature's grimy off-white uniform almost made a welcome relief in such a bright, relentless room. Most curious of all, the figure's yellowing pupils had a peculiar intensity to them. Below the crooked nose-snout lay a large mouth, gilded with dark streaks of blood. Two small tusks - or the stumps of them - protruded from a sardonic smile. 

'You certainly surprised me, taking out three of the nurses like that. I was almost impressed - yet you swung too late with the fourth. Perhaps the tranquilliser was slowing you down by then.'

Wilbur blinked. 

The figure gestured towards the bed-straps. 'Only a temporary measure, you'll be pleased to know, but they did say they'd increase your Diagones dosage and limit your contact hours.'

Wilbur's lips struggled to form the question.

'Overall, not a bad attempt - and the pay off isn't too bad. But c'mon, at least alert me next time? You seem to get so absorbed, introspective, all calm-like, and then something snaps and you just start swinging. And laughing! You were laughing, last time, remember?'

'Wh-wh-who...'

'The nurses could barely get you to shut up. Laughing so hard you were crying, shaking. They had to gag you befor-'

'Who a-are you?'

The pig-man started, his eyes widening. His smile dropped, the words fell out of his mouth, empty. 'Wilbur, it's me.' Wilbur blinked, and stayed silent. 'God...What did they do to you?'

***

More chapters will be forthcoming - they will be longer and have more content. Treat this as a 'pilot'. 


	2. Familiar Faces

***

‘So, we were friends, before…?’ Wilbur asked, as Techno was working on his ankle bindings. He was sitting up in bed, his eyes tracing the simple table, the spare bed and blanket that lined the bleak expanse of the room. The pig-man - who had asked simply to be called ‘Techno’ - had settled into a grim narrative of the past couple months, a tale filled with intrigue, suspense and dynamite. Glancing up into Wilbur’s eyes, a slick smile crawled across his face. 

‘We were certainly accomplices. Similar goals binds men of many differences, do they not?’ 

‘But you wanted anarchy? Complete and utter destruction?’ Wilbur’s voice was rising in pitch. ‘Those were my friends, Techno, I couldn’t see how I could have harmed them!’

‘Relax, Buddy. You didn’t kill them. You attempted to reorganise government a little. I had different intentions, clearly, but as you can see’ - he gestured at his white inmate’s uniform, ‘I didn’t get far.’

‘Oh’. Wilbur looked down at his chapped hands. ‘Right.’ He paused. ‘So, when can we see them, then?’ 

Technoblade laughed heartily and slapped him on the back, causing Wilbur to jolt. ‘That’s the spirit! Well, thanks to your antics last night, we have a week of solitary confinement together. Now I know, I know,’ he smiled indulgently, ‘it should have just been you here by yourself, but seeing you fight so nobly - and so badly! - I felt I had to get involved. So, here we are, for a week.’ He made a pretence of dusting off his uniform slightly. ‘Pretend to enjoy my presence and we shall get along just fine.’ He winked. ’You’ll feel better once you’ve eaten. Now, about the food here, you must avoid the mash they serve on Tuesdays…’

***

Hours passed - or had they? Time was slippery here, Wilbur had decided, the walls were beginning to imprint themselves into his brain. The pig-man was lying on the floor, his legs splayed up against the wall, and he was tossing and catching an empty cup. Their discussion - more of one of Techno’s diatribes, really - was centred on the nuances of potato farming, one of his chief interests. Wilbur had taken to quietly examining his companion as he talked. It was getting hard to concentrate; he was losing himself in the wrinkled fleshy scars that lined Techno’s face. The outworking of a life of combat and training was writ large across his muscular form, yellowed tusks and gleaming eyes. Strange that such a fierce creature would be so keen to accept the passivity of solitary confinement - or potato farming, at that. 

’So, once I had cleared the visitors away from the farming districts-‘ Techno was interrupted by a soft click. The door rolled open, revealing a fox-like humanoid, with a slender snout and stooped shoulders. Whilst it was dressed in the same greying uniform that clothed Techno and Wilbur, it clearly had some level of authority, as it was pushing a trolley loaded with medical supplies. Wilbur’s eyes were drawn to the name label on his jumpsuit, ‘Fundy’, almost as quickly as they noticed the big ring of keys hanging at his belt. 

‘Fundy! A pleasure to see you!’ Exclaimed Techno, pushing himself up into a sitting position. ‘Excuse young Wilbur here for looking blank - he means no harm in it - last night’s tussle seems to have given him some kind of concussion.’ Techno pointed at his own head and twirled his finger, widening his eyes and nodding theatrically. Fundy smiled uneasily. 

‘I have both of your m-medication for today. As you know, uh,’ he looked at Techno, ‘red pills for anger management,’ and, glancing at Wilbur, ‘and b-blue for tranquility.’ He held out both flimsy paper cups towards them both.

‘Were we friends, before?’ Asked Wilbur, quietly, as he took his cup. 

‘Something like that.’ 

‘I remember bits, here and there. You were with us in the original L’Manburg, right?’ 

Fundy gave a small, pleased smile. ‘It was a pleasure to serve alongside you.’ 

‘And how are the others? Ninachu? Tommy? Tubbo?’

Fundy avoided his gaze. There was a pause, and Wilbur worried his lip. Techno coughed, causing Fundy to start and nod quickly.

‘They’re changed, somewhat. B-but here. And happy. You’ll see them soon.’ Fundy gave a little nod and began to trundle his trolley out of the room again, locking it softly behind him. 

***

As he left, Techno widened his eyes theatrically and blew out his cheeks. ‘Not sure what got into him there.’ Wilbur nodded hollowly and stared into his cup of bright blue pills. ‘Chin chin!’ The pig-man exclaimed, snapping his head back and throwing his own pills down his throat.

All that remained were four bright blue capsules, that sat, cheerily, in the bottom of Wilbur’s cup. 

‘You not going to take them, kid?’ Asked Techno, sitting back down in his original position. ‘They’ll do you a world of good. Keeps all of us sane. And healthy.’ He looked pointedly at the sallow, haggard face of his companion. 

Wilbur frowned, still playing with his cup. Something didn’t seem right, and his head had begun to pulse horribly. The brightness of the room wasn’t helping. 

’Techno, why did Fundy flinch when you looked at him?’


	3. Old Insights

Wilbur’s pale knuckles shined as he gripped the ceramic sink tightly. He had managed to snatch a couple minutes of privacy in the greying bathroom of the shabby room. Techno was pacing on the other side of the door, waiting for Wilbur to return. In Wilbur’s sticky palm lay the blue pills, gathering moisture as the minutes ticked by. Wilbur could hear the rattling of his own teeth, as he suppressed the urge to vomit. The nausea seemed ever-present, building up over the past few hours, seeming to quicken at the sight of Fundy. Techno’s beady stare hadn’t helped matters much either, and he needed a couple seconds of his own air. Another wave of sickness rolled down his sweating body.

Gasping for breath, he looked up, making eye contact with himself in the small, chipped mirror. He looked gaunt and haggard, dark circles lining his eyes. There was something unsettling about his reflection - the auburn curls over one eye and chapped lips were all signs of normality, and yet, something didn’t feel right. He felt washed out, empty. His lips quirked up into a smirk. Why had he done that? Gripping the sink more firmly, he tried to steady himself. His eyes caught on his thumb; his hands had been cleaned, probably by a nurse in the aftermath of last night’s events, but there lay a singular rust-coloured streak under one of his nails. He picked at it, biting down the absurd urge to giggle. A little streak of red in a white room lit by white lights, on a white man in a white uniform. He shook slightly, repressing the laugh. It was only a dull red. But a familiar red. Dried blood. Blood. 

Wilbur’s neck snapped back and he slammed his head against the bathroom wall. His eyes darkened.

***

‘WILBUR, YOU HAVE TO HELP US!’ Tommy’s eyes were wide with fear, blood caked his nose and was running down the side of his face. His sandy hair was tangled and matted with dirt. They were in a darkened room with rough walls and stale air. A bunker, perhaps? There was a narrow doorway in one corner, letting in a dim glimpse of the outside world. He shook Wilbur desperately, gesturing behind him. ‘Think of your friends!! We need you, Wilbur!’ He could hear the pattering of feet and the sobs of someone - a woman? - behind him. ‘He’s c-coming, we have to stop him!’ Tommy let go of Wilbur and fumbled to buckle on his tattered armour.

Wilbur could hear the faint sounds of shouting outside, the rings and clashes of combat. Scattered around the room lay tattered, discarded armour, old wound-coverings and some loose rations. There was shouting, closer this time, and a couple others raced past, Fundy among them, jolting Wilbur against the rough stone walls. The were shouting as they ran, drawing their sword against the light filtering through the end of the corridor. 

‘COME OUT HERE AND DIE LIKE MEN!’ Roared a voice, causing Wilbur to jump and Tommy to whirl around with a cry. He hadn’t even buckled on all of his armour; his shin greaves were discarded on the floor and his arm guard was hanging loosely by a strap. ‘Wilbur, please.’ With one last agonised look, Tommy tore his eyes from Wilbur’s face and bolted through the door, leaving him standing, isolated, alone. 

***

Red, screaming. He was somewhere else. Someone pulling at his trench coat, clutching the ragged hem and pleading. He heard laughter.

***

Wilbur’s eyes snapped open. A huge trotter was planted in front of his face - he had fallen over in the bathroom and Techno was crouching down, shaking him awake. The cool bathroom tiles pressed against his feverish cheek.

‘You passed out right there, bud.’ His large yellow eyes surveyed him critically. ‘You didn’t actually take the pills, did you?’ 

Wilbur swallowed drily and closed his eyes. He gave a weak shake of his head. Sighing, the pig-man helped him up into a sitting position and pushed the pills that had dropped on the floor into his hands. 

‘Just take these, will you?’ The scars wrinkled around his snout. ‘They’ll help with your...’ he gestured vaguely, ‘troubling insights. I’ve had plenty of my own, but the pills keep me sane.’

He winked, as he tucked an arm under Wilbur’s shoulder, as he guided him towards the white bed. ‘At least, as sane as is possible around here.’

Wilbur feebly swallowed the pills, one by one, and sat staring emptily at the bleak walls of the recovery room. The straps that had once anchored him down into the bed seemed ominous. 

‘Techno, I saw something. S-someone was fighting my friends. They were...’ he thought back to Tommy’s wretched face, ‘hurt. And scared. I know I did some bad things to L’Manburg but I didn’t go that far, did I?’ 

Techno tilted his head. ‘It didn’t matter much in the end. You didn’t harm them. I don’t think you even wanted to harm them, really.’ He chuckled to himself. ‘Either way, irony had other plans; someone else got there first.’

‘Who?’ 

‘Wilbur, I can’t tell you that. The last time I did, you became… hysteric. I couldn’t see the humour in it myself, but you began shrieking with laughter-‘ Seeing Wilbur open his mouth to respond, he lifted a finger and continued. ‘You even tried to dash your head against the door handle.’ He gestured - there was a faded outline where the handle rested previously. ‘It took them an hour to remove it and even longer trying to piece your skull back together.’ 

Wilbur’s eyes darkened and he looked at his chapped hands. There was a pause. In a low voice - almost to himself - he spoke softly, ‘I’d destroy the man who hurt my friends.’ 

‘Easy there, tiger.’ Techno slapped a meaty hand onto his shoulder. ‘You’ll get your chance, soon enough.’

Wilbur’s frown hardened. He would wait.


End file.
